


Productivity

by TheAsexualofSpades



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Protective Logic | Logan Sanders, Self-Destruction, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, can be platonic or romantic you decide, implied mociet, implied parental anxciet and moxiety, possibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:29:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27625427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Roman is loud. Roman is extra. Roman is brimming with all the trimmings and trappings of an extravagant parade and it is impossible to ignore him when he walks into a room.After all, when you’ve only got 0.5% of a day to make yourself count, you learn not to let a single second of it slip by.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 27
Kudos: 250





	Productivity

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to the nonny on tumblr who requested this! I hope it's what you wanted, I definitely didn't just project onto roman for...an amount of words

**Prompt** : if you’re still open to prompts could you write some Roman-centric hurt/comfort? Maybe with him overworking himself and Logan finding him?

* * *

Roman is loud. Roman is extra. Roman is brimming with all the trimmings and trappings of an extravagant parade and it is impossible to ignore him when he walks into a room.

After all, when you’ve only got 0.5% of a day to make yourself count, you learn not to let a single second of it slip by.

Roman has to be _perfect_ for that 0.5%. He can’t slip up even once or he risks that 0.5% slipping away entirely. He has his ideas, he has his witty barbs prepared, he has his improv skills ready, and he never stops moving. Which means the other 99.5% has to be used _very_ wisely.

He has to get the ideas thought up, drafted, edited, and ready to be passed off. He has to be primped and coiffed and never look for a _second_ that he’s been caught off guard. He has to work.

Logan’s the one with the schedule, anyone will tell you that. It’s up on his wall, perfectly ordered and color-coded with half a dozen dry erase markers and post-its next to it, all ready to go the instant it needs to be adjusted. Logan’s discipline is evident in the way he speaks, dresses, acts, it’s right there for the world to see.

Roman’s discipline is in the hours and hours he spends in front of his computer, or with a pen in his hand, or with the sword at his side. It’s in the way his fingers beat out anxious rhythms against the keys or forget what letters are supposed to look like halfway through writing a word. It’s in the way he can sit down for six hours and write and write and write until his eyes are strained but the words are _here._

Patton worries when that happens, knocking on Roman’s door with his voice full of concern, food, water, even just a hug. Roman always hollers at him to come in only to bounce from one corner of the room to the next as he tries to figure out what to write next, how to hit the next plot point, or barely looks up from his frantic typing as he assures Patton that yes, he’s fine, thank you for asking, yes, he’s taken breaks, he’s just so close to a stopping point then he’ll give him a hug, okay? Patton leaves reassured and Roman’s fingers fly. He doesn’t come by that often so it’s okay.

He can’t _start_ tasks and not finish them. He has so much to do that it’s not worth starting one thing and leaving it off because he’ll forget it. Better to sit there and see something all the way to the end than get interrupted and start something else and risk forgetting what he was going to do. So he has to work through it, get into that zone where all he has to think about is the rhythmic _click-click-click_ of the keyboard and making sure his words machine is going going going. And if that means sometimes he looks up and it’s only been ten minutes or he looks up and it’s been a whole hour, well. Push through. Once he’s in the zone he can just _go._ It’s just a matter of getting there.

Roman’s quite proud of the way he’s built his schedule, if he does say so himself. Once he gets into the zone and _works_ he can get all the projects he needs to get done in a day dusted and dried, set aside for review or further brainstorming. After all that, it’s normally near his 0.5% time, so he dusts _himself_ off and wears that big smile and rides the high of a job well done to fuel his princely persona until the 0.5% is over. If it’s just dinner, it’s done by the time the meal is over. If he’s spending a little time with the others, they normally tire of him before it runs out. If it’s movie night, well…it’s dark. And he can sit away from everyone else.

It’s a very efficient system. Logan would be proud.

Except, well…

Okay. Here’s the thing.

Roman’s Creativity, yes, but he’s also Passion, Desire, Romance, a lot of things.

He’s also the Ego.

That makes him…squishy.

It’s not that he _can’t_ take criticism, far from it—criticism and feedback is one of the things that makes everyone better. It’s just that he…okay, this is going to sound _really_ stupid, but he’s just…he’s just very bad at receiving any sort of feedback, okay?

Compliments are wonderful and make his chest all warm and fuzzy but they also make his face flush redder than his sash and make him want to be very, very small. Positive feedback makes him want to skip to the end to find out what else he needs to do or shrink away from the bright spotlight he’s suddenly found himself in.

No feedback is awful. He wants to make a _difference,_ to _do_ something, _talk_ about something with someone. He wants to be _here,_ to be _present,_ to talk and listen and create. He can’t create in an empty room.

Constructive criticism is…hard.

It’s so fucking _stupid._ He knows everything isn’t perfect. Nothing’s ever really _finished,_ it just gets to a point where you’ve used it to say what you need it to say at that moment and you let it go. And he needs help to _get_ it there before he gives it up, he knows this, he _knows_ this.

And it’s not even that it comes as _only_ things he needs to work on. It’s always both strengths and weaknesses—sorry, things that could be _better—_ it’s not like it's just a pile of ‘stuff you did wrong.’

And most of the time it’s _good_ feedback. It makes him a better creator, helps him understand his audience more. And it’s genuinely really insightful, like they obviously took time to understand the work and think about it and _want_ it to be more like what he wants it to do. They care and it’s obvious and it shows and Roman really should understand this because he makes fun of the things that he loves.

So why, please, Roman would like to know, why is he hunched over his desk with his head on a book as his throat tears itself raw?

His lungs are _screaming_ at him to get air and he’s gasping at nothing, his nose way too stuffed up to do anything other than dribble horrifically all over his work. His gaze is focused on nothing. The letters in front of him blur into meaningless black squiggles. Spit drips out the side of his lips. His hands clutch at nothing. And his chest aches so _so_ bad.

One of his hands comes up to clutch at the front of his costume. The sash groans in protest. He can hardly feel the indents of his knuckles. He pushes harder. It still just _hurts._ Why does it _hurt?_

He spent six _hours_ writing this idea from _scratch._ He poured over and over this thing until his eyes felt like they were going to fall out of his head and he worked so _hard._ And he—he thought he did _good._

_It’s did ‘well,’ Roman._

Roman winces, another wave of—oh hey, he’s crying. When did that happen?—another wave of tears spilling behind his eyes, making them ache too.

It was the only idea of the last batch that everyone _wanted_ and—and Thomas asked for it to be done and he wanted to have time to work on the other things that Thomas _wasn’t_ sure about and make it so Virgil didn’t have to stress about everything and he worked so _hard_ on it and it was—he thought it was _good_ and he’s being so fucking ridiculous right now.

Logan has said parts of it were good. He’d complimented Roman on how much he’d been able to write in such a short amount of time. He’d asked if Roman would want to talk about some of this stuff in greater detail at a later time because he’d been interested and obviously Roman had opinions and things to say about it.

And that counts for something, or at least it should.

But…but Logan had _also_ said that the framework was wrong.

The _framework_ was wrong. That—that was the whole _point_ of the story. The framework was supposed to convey the message and the message was supposed to come across and it doesn’t _matter_ that Logan thought some of the stuff was good because it was made to suit the framework that Roman _thought_ they wanted but it’s _not_ which means he has to rework the whole thing entirely because it’s not what they wanted and—

_And_ Logan said it should be reorganized which is not how a story _works_ because he can’t just cut and paste things to fit where he wants them because he has to make sure it _works_ and it makes _sense_ and if he has to rewrite the structure and the message then he—he—

He has to start _over._

A wracked sob tears its way out of Roman’s throat, right into the pages of the book. Six hours. _Six hours._ Down the fucking drain. He could’ve—he could’ve spent that time doing other things or fixing other things or—

_Or,_ he thinks bitterly, one hand still clutched to his aching chest, _you could’ve just done it right the first fucking time._

_God,_ he’s going to have to do _so_ much work to catch up. He’s—he’s going to have to put off writing that short story, making sure that idea was polished, making sure that—

He has so much _work_ to do.

By the time he raises his head from the book, his head is tingling. His fingers lose sensation as he moves and his entire chest feels like it's held together by the weakest threads. He has to let his head drop back to the gross wet spot he’s left in the book just to avoid a horrible head rush. A few slow, shuddering breaths later, and he sits back in his chair.

He’s actually quite proud of himself, he thinks absentmindedly as he looks for his tissue box. He _does_ remember when he started crying. It was _during_ the feedback with Logan.

Logan said that entire sections needed to be cut. Something in Roman’s chest had snapped when he heard that. They were…this story was his _darling._

They’re _all_ his darlings, but this one, so new, so…so _fresh_ was still living in his chest, right next to his heart.

His voice hadn’t slipped _once._ Even as tears ran down his face he hadn’t slipped. Then Logan had realized it was later than expected and apologetically left Roman in the common space. Had to get to another meeting. That was fine. Roman could get away with a much terser goodbye and Logan didn’t look too hard at his face.

He has _so much_ work to do.

If he puts it off he’s never going to want to pick it up again and the dread of it will poison him. Poison Thomas. He can’t have that. They’re already behind schedule. _He’s_ already behind schedule.

If he starts doing this now he won’t be able to stop. He’s not in the right space and he doesn’t know if he can force himself into the one he needs to be in. Just the thought of looking at his notes, with the handwriting getting worse and worse is enough to make his fingers tremble. The thought of looking at Logan’s precise comments in bright, bold, unmistakably incorrect red pinches right under his throat.

_It’s alright, Roman. You’ve done good work. Especially for a rough draft._

This wasn’t supposed to be a rough draft.

He glances at the clock. It’s been too long. He has to do something.

He doesn’t wash his face off or drink water. He doesn’t eat. He has somewhere to be in half an hour and he has to do _something._

Roman’s fingers are clumsy on the keyboard. The words aren’t words. He opens the _draft_ and shakily creates a copy. He can’t hurt his sweetheart. He can’t.

He can maim the fuck out of a copy, though.

Each section that disappears in a merciless click of the delete button makes the ache in his chest worse. So much work. So much time. So much of _Roman._ Gone. Not right. Worthless.

_He_ has so much work to do.

Roman pointedly covers the clock on his computer with a folded up post-it note and sets an alarm for when he needs to get ready to go meet with Remus. He puts his head down and works, blinking when he can’t see the screen through his tears. He…he _can’t_ make this work, not with the corrections that Logan wants, not with the time he needs to make up. He has to start over, almost _completely,_ which means back to the drawing board. New outline, new readings, new interpretations, new _everything._ Because it’s not what they wanted and Roman has to be what they want.

Two minutes until he has to go meet with Remus he gets up and blows his nose. Quick glance in the mirror, it doesn’t _look_ like he’s been crying. Grab what he needs to. Make sure this is in fact what he’s supposed to do.

Roman’s one act of true cowardice is making sure Janus isn’t around.

Remus doesn’t notice anything wrong, and if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

Good.

* * *

Logan sighs, adjusts his glasses, and closes his laptop. It’s been a productive day and he has precisely thirteen minutes before he’s required downstairs to bake with Patton. They’re making blueberry muffins tonight, as requested, and Logan has secured permission to be absent from the movie marathon.

He gets up and makes his way to his schedule wall, picking up his pack of markers as he goes. Light blue for Patton, dark blue for himself, purple for Virgil, yellow for Janus, green for Remus, and red for Roman. He frowns, noticing that he has to press a little harder than anticipated to get Virgil’s marker to show up.

Logan sinks out to Remus’s room, ducking a chunk of flying viscera and quickly conjuring an umbrella for himself.

“Remus?”

“That _is_ me,” Remus cackles, hanging upside down from…what looks to be a chandelier constructed entirely out of viscera and a partially decomposed sperm whale skeleton. His face appears under the brim of Logan’s umbrella. “What brings you here?”

“Do you still have the pack of markers I lent you?”

“No! I used those up _ages_ ago.”

Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dare I ask _why?_ ”

“You remember how we talked about how if you do the simple science experiment of emptying a highlighter into water then putting flowers in it to make them glow in the dark?”

“...yes?”

“Did you know you can do the same with octopuses?”

…now, we don’t have time to unpack _all_ of that…

“Enjoy your chandelier, Remus,” Logan sighs, sinking out and promptly disposing of the umbrella. He adjusts his tie and makes sure nothing splattered his glasses and starts toward Roman’s room. He _would_ ask Patton but that might lead to starting the baking earlier than expected and, if he’s being honest, Logan does not currently have the wherewithal to do that quite so soon. He just needs to pick up a new purple marker and go back to his room.

He doesn’t actually know what he expected to find.

Maybe it was a Roman sprawled across his bed, idly toying with something, or across the floor with several pens strewn about him. Or at the computer, laughing at the screen with his feet up or fiddling with something.

Maybe it was an empty room, Roman in the Imagination, or even Roman upset about some of the comments he’d made earlier.

He knocks on the door and frowns when it creaks open.

“Roman?”

Logan pushes the door open and looks around. Roman’s not here. There’s water running in the bathroom. He knocks on the door louder.

“One moment!”

The bathroom door opens and Roman appears. “Logan. Is there something wrong?”

“One of my pens has dried up and I’m seeking a replacement.”

Something flashes across Roman’s face too quick to accurately pinpoint and in a flash, a new pack of markers sits in Roman’s hand.

“Thank you.”

Roman nods and turns, sitting at his desk and shuffling through a few papers. When Logan doesn’t move for a few moments, Roman looks back up.

“…is there something else?”

“No, I just…” Logan tilts his head. “Are you alright, Roman?”

“I’m performing within acceptable limits,” Roman jokes, even as his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “just…trying to get this done before the z—um. Before we have to go downstairs. Thanks for baking for tonight, I, uh, I know you won’t be staying for the movies so I should probably say thank-you now, right?”

“Roman,” Logan interrupts softly, “Roman, what were you going to say?”

“Hmm?”

“You cut yourself off. You were going to say ‘before’ something that wasn’t going downstairs.”

“Was I?”

“Roman.”

Roman’s fingers falter on the keyboard for barely a second. “Don’t you want to get in some more rest before baking,” he tries, “I know you’ve expressed that helps you before.”

“I would, but I would also like to know what you were going to say.”

Roman worries his bottom lip. “…can’t I just finish working, please?”

Logan looks around. Something is wrong.

The door barely squeaks as Logan shuts it, glancing around to make sure no one else is sneaking by or within earshot. He turns back just in time to see Roman recovering from a horrible flinch. Without meaning to, a soft comforting noise escapes his throat.

“Roman, what’s—“

“I’m _fine,_ Specs.”

“Yes, I can tell from that tone of voice that you are completely and utterly fine.”

“You know I’m pretty sure sass is an emotional response.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up and he walks closer, setting the pack of markers down on the corner of Roman’s desk and folding his hands in front of him.

“Roman,” he tries again, “what’s wrong?”

Roman’s hands tighten into fists on his keyboard. He barely glances up at Logan. “It’s nothing, Specs.”

“If it’s upsetting you it’s not nothing.”

“It’s nothing _you_ need to be concerned about.”

“It’s upsetting you, Roman, that means it’s something for me to be concerned about.”

Roman huffs. “Give me a little credit, Logan, I promise I can operate under distress without compromising Thomas or the rest of you, I’ve had enough practice.”

“…I must admit I’m not sure if you expect me to be reassured by that.”

Silence.

The clock in the hallway ticks.

Roman takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders back. “The 0.5%.”

“Excuse me?”

“The 0.5%, Logan,” Roman repeats, “that’s what I was going to say.”

Logan frowns. What—why would Roman say—0.5% of _what?_

Roman gives him a disbelieving smile when Logan cautiously broaches that question. “You should know, Specs. Your chart, remember?”

Logan’s eyes widen. “Roman, what—what does that have to do with this?”

“What does the fact that you’ve only given me 0.5% of each day to run things have to do with me being upset?”

“Roman you—you’re allowed to _do_ things, I didn’t mean it like that, I just—“

“Stop, Logan,” Roman says with a soft fury, reaching out to lay his hand on Logan’s arm only to stop. His hand closes into a fist and returns to his side. Goosebumps raise on Logan’s arm and he suddenly feels very, _very_ cold.

  
“Stop,” he says again, “it doesn’t matter how you meant it. I understand.”

“But clearly you don’t,” Logan protests, “if you believe that you are only allowed to _exist_ for 0.5% of each day—“

“That’s not it, Logan.” Roman turns in his chair. “I get 0.5% to exist around _you_ each day.”

“I don’t see the difference!”

“It means I have to _perform_ for 0.5% a day.”

_Perform._

Logan’s mind stutters to a halt. No. No, no, Roman…

“Roman,” he starts, “Roman, why are you doing so much work?”

“Well, when you only have 0.5% of a day to present, you’d better have some damn good stuff, shouldn’t you? After all, it’s not like you’ll get much time to talk it through before you have to—“

“Not…not just that,” Logan interrupts, “why did you call it ‘performing?’”

Roman stares up at him, his head tilted to the side. “…do you actually believe that I’m…like that?”

The fact that the ‘yes’ came so readily to the tip of his tongue makes Logan sick.

“When you only have so little time,” Roman mumbles, “if I don’t…if I don’t take up all the space I can for that amount of time, I’m afraid it will just…slip away.”

Before Logan can even _begin_ to talk about how awful that is, Roman blusters on.

“That’s why I have to get back to work. I have to get this done before the 0.5% starts so I can make the most of it. Thought you’d be happy, Specs,” Roman says, flashing the fakest smile Logan’s ever seen, “about how efficient I’m being.”

Logan is many things right now, and ‘happy’ is not any of them. His mouth opens and closes, trying to look for words, for something, _anything_ to try and override this, make Roman see sense, make Roman see—

He stops.

Roman wasn’t expecting him. He’s been surprised.

His hands are shaking as they type. He keeps having to hit the backspace key. There are twitches in his arms that aren’t normally there and he keeps trying to scoot away from Logan.

Logan reaches out to cover one of Roman’s hands.

Roman flinches so hard he almost knocks his laptop off of the desk.

“You’re panicking,” Logan murmurs, “take a deep breath.”

He holds Roman still until some of the mania goes out of his eyes. He lifts his hand away.

“That’s enough work for today.”

“What? No, no, I’m so behind, I have so much work to do, I have to—“

“What have you done today, Roman?”

“Not nearly enough, I have to—“

Then Logan catches sight of a stack of paper with red annotations. He frowns, moving around Roman to take a look, ignoring the soft noise of protest. This is the feedback he gave Roman earlier, these are his annotations, that’s his red pen he uses for Roman, that’s…

…oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no…

“Roman,” he murmurs, turning to look at him, “why is this wet?”

Roman takes a breath and Logan blinks.

Roman looks so _small._

“…I have so much work to do.”

Something in Logan hurts. Think. Think. _Think._

He glances around frantically, spotting a stack of looseleaf paper. _Aha._

“Roman,” he manages around the lump in his throat, “if we make a list of things that you have to or have already done today, will that help?”

Roman nods, watching as Logan hurries to grab a sheet of paper and fetch the red pen out of the marker box. “…do we have to use red?”

Logan pauses, yet to uncap it. “Is there something wrong with red?”

The costume makes a few rustling noises as Roman shifts in the chair. Logan holds out the pen until the cap lies next to the bright red sash on Roman’s chest. “Red’s your color, isn’t it?”

“…wait, that’s why you always use red?”

“That’s why I use red for you.”

“…oh.”

As he makes the list, he keeps an eye on Roman. Has he…have they never truly looked at Roman? Logan’s sure _Janus_ knows at least _some_ of this, if not all of it, and Remus has absolutely no filter any of the time but especially not when it comes to Roman.

They’ll have to be better about that.

Roman’s face perks up a little when Logan finally passes him the list, only to fall almost as quickly when he sees the number of things on it. “L-Logan, I—“

“Have a look at each of them,” Logan interrupts softly, passing him the pen, “and mark off the ones that you’ve done already.”

“…am I supposed to do _all_ of these today?”

“Ideally, yes.”

The grim look of resignation and determination on Roman’s face is enough to make Logan want to take it away, but he can’t. Not before Roman sees.

Sure enough, as Roman starts to scan down the list, his brow furrows. He glances up at Logan who simply nods toward it.

“Um…”

“Read out the ones you’re having trouble with,” Logan offers, “if you like.”

“…'get out of bed?’”

“Did you do that?”

“Yes?”

“Then cross it off.”

Bemused, Roman does. He consults the list again. “Are all of these—am I supposed to—“

Logan nods when Roman can’t finish his sentence. “Check off the ones you’ve done and then we’ll see how productive you’ve been today.”

_It’s strange,_ Logan thinks as he watches Roman go down the list, he’s never been so… _gentle_ like this before, especially not with Roman.

Maybe it’s time to be better about that too.

“All finished?”

“I think so…”

“How many do you have left?”

“Um, just…drink water, save current works, eat dinner, and, um…” Roman squints at the page, then up at Logan, “…receive emotional support.”

“Well, those don’t seem to be too difficult.” Logan folds his arms and smiles. “I’d say you’ve been very productive today.”

“But I need to rework the entire idea for tomorrow,” Roman argues, “I haven’t even made a _dent_ in it, I—“

“Wait, why do you think you need to rework it completely?”

“…you said the framework was wrong and you need it reorganized. Which is fine,” Roman hastily defends, “you’re not wrong, but that basically means I have to start over.”

“You don’t have to start over, Roman,” Logan reassures, “and that’s not what I meant. Why don’t we check off the rest of the list now and then we can have a…redo of the feedback session tomorrow?”

“Logan, I’m really confused right now,” Roman blurts out, clutching the list like a lifeboat.

“What’s confusing?”

Logan takes a step closer, resisting the urge to smile when Roman doesn’t back away.

“…not that this isn’t appreciated,” Roman manages finally, “but I—you—you’ve never _done_ this before.”

“Perhaps I didn’t realize that it was necessary.”

_Wrong thing to say._

“Wait, you don’t have to—I can—I’ll be fine on my own—“

“Not what I meant, Roman, I am perfectly aware that you are capable of taking care of yourself,” Logan soothes, “but…it seems that my actions—or _lack_ of actions, perhaps—has been hurting you. And I apologize for that.”

Roman swallows heavily, the list still wrinkled up in his hands.

“I want to have this conversation properly,” Logan murmurs, taking another step closer, “and when you feel comfortable enough to tell me what’s really going on. That’s not now, and that’s okay. Will you take my word if I tell you that you don’t need to do as much work on your story as you think you do?”

“…sure.”

“I’m pleased to hear that.” Logan gestures toward the door. “Why don’t you save your work and we’ll go downstairs?”

“Aren’t you baking with Patton in like—now?”

“I was, but Janus has also expressed interest in baking tonight, and…” Logan smiles. “I do not think he would be upset to learn that I wished to postpone for this reason.”

The smallest smile comes to Roman’s face. “…since when have those two been…”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you noticed that they— with Virgil—“

“Oh, don’t even get me started.”

“It’s like watching a sitcom sometimes, isn’t it?”

“Quite.”

It makes Roman chuckle and Logan feels his shoulders relax. Then something passes over his face again.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just the um, the last thing on the list of receiving emotional support…” Roman absentmindedly smoothes out the paper. “…don’t know how I’m going to get that if, um…well, movie night’s still a thing.”

…that is _not_ the kind of emotional support Logan was referring to and they both know it.

“Well,” Logan says, adjusting his tie and valiantly ignoring the heat rushing to his face, “there _is_ another option.”

Roman’s eyes widen. “…you’re serious?”

“Of course.”

“But you…when you ask off movie night, that’s—“

“Roman.”

Roman stops. Something flickers over his face. Logan frowns.

“What?”

“…you’ve said my name a lot today, Specs,” Roman mumbles, looking away.

“Is that a problem?”

Roman shrugs. “…kind of reminds me of when I, um, mess up.”

“…what?”

“You, um…” Roman fiddles with the list. “You don’t normally use my name unless you’re talking about me. And you don’t, uh, you don’t normally do that unless I’ve done something wrong. But that’s not _your_ fault.”

“…thank you for telling me.” Logan tilts his head. “Is there something you would rather I call you instead?”

“Not particularly.”

“Princey?”

“No thanks.”

“Kiddo?”

“You’re not Patton.”

“No, it sounds strange, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“…I’m guessing Creativity would be…”

“…yeah.”

“I’ll think of something,” Logan murmurs, “but yes, I would be happy to spend the evening with you.” Roman still looks unsure. “Why the hesitation?”

“You don’t like being touched,” Roman blurts out, the list in his hands about to rip.

_Ah._

Logan reaches forward and carefully extricates the list from Roman’s grasp. He sets it on the desk. Roman watches him, eyes wide, as Logan rests his hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t like being touched when I don’t expect it,” Logan says quietly, “or when it’s not on my terms. When it _is…_ and especially when it’s helping someone, I don’t mind at all.”

Roman’s staring at his hand like he’s never seen it before. His shoulder feels so…small?

Is Roman _shaking?_

“Hey,” Logan calls softly, “hey, can you look at me?”

Roman doesn’t move.

“Come on, just…just look at me.”

Roman turns his head and oh—

“Oh, dear,” Logan breathes, his hand moving up on instinct to wipe away Roman’s tear, “oh, dear, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

Roman’s eyes fall shut as more tears brim on his lashes. He squeezes them tightly and turns his head, almost nuzzling into Logan’s palm, as if he doesn’t believe it’s really there.

Oh.

_Oh._

_Oh, no._

“You’re touch-starved,” Logan whispers, mostly to himself, stepping closer and cupping Roman’s face firmly.

“Haven’t exactly had time to—“ a breath rips itself out of Roman’s lungs as Logan pulls him closer— “to—to—I—you’re really _warm,_ Logan…”

“You’ve been overworking yourself,” Logan says firmly, “and you don’t have to. Not ever again.”

Roman’s eyes flutter open cautiously, staring at Logan with such unabashed hope that it makes his throat clench.

“Hey,” he murmurs instead, “there you are.”

“…sorry.”

“No need to be.” Logan brushes away another tear. “Why don’t we go downstairs, get something to eat, something to drink, and then come back?”

Roman nods, but his eyes glaze over a little as Logan keeps stroking his cheek. Logan shakes his head, smiling fondly at him. Oh, Roman…

“Hey,” he calls again, giving Roman’s face a little shake, “hug me.”

“W-what?”

“Hug me,” Logan repeats, opening his arms, “come on…”

The time it takes for Roman to step forward and carefully, _carefully_ place his arms around Logan’s shoulders like he’s afraid of ruining him feels like an eternity. As soon as it’s clear Roman’s not going to do any more than lightly rest the weight of his arms on Logan for just a moment, Logan moves.

He wraps his arms firmly around Roman’s waist and pulls him until they’re flush. He smiles a little at the gasp of surprise, only to soften instantly when Roman lets out a _keen._

“I said _hug_ me, dear heart,” Logan whispers, the pet name rolling off his tongue before he can stop it, “come on, now, you can do better than that.”

Poor Roman is shaking so badly Logan feels himself almost thrown off balance. He spreads his feet a little wider and holds him, rubbing his back and lifting his chin a little higher. Roman feels so small and _cold_ in his arms that he doesn’t try and playfully coax him into hugging tighter. Instead, he hooks his chin over Roman’s shoulder and tightens his grip, softly encouraging him to _breathe,_ to _relax,_ it’s alright.

“That’s it,” he murmurs when Roman finally sags into his arms, “that’s it, dear heart, good, I have you, I have you.”

Roman turns his head into Logan’s neck and Logan makes a soft sound at the slight dampness. His arms still tremble slightly, but he’s leaning most of his weight onto Logan now, almost hanging off of him with the grip he has on his wrists.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, “I’ve got you.”

When his arms start to ache pleasantly from the strain of keeping his grip, Logan eases back, making sure to keep one hand on Roman’s face.

“If we stand here any longer we may fall asleep,” he whispers, “let’s go downstairs, and then we can come back, hmm?”

Roman, the poor thing, is so exhausted that all he can do is fall forward a little, just so their foreheads rest together. Logan chuckles.

  
“Just for dinner, then we’ll come back and I’ll cuddle you some more, okay?”

“…yeah, okay.”

“You can have a chance to hug me properly too, hmm?”

Roman huffs a laugh. “I’ll show _you._ ”

“I’m sure you will, dear heart.” When the face against his suddenly grows _much_ warmer, Logan tilts his head. “Is that alright? Dear heart?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s alright. _More_ than alright.”

“Then come on, dear heart, let’s get those last few things checked off the list, hmm?”

Patton, of course, has absolutely no objections. Virgil tips them a lazy two-fingered salute. Remus doesn’t _quite_ tackle his brother into the wall but it’s close. Janus makes eye contact with Logan and gives him a nod. Right. They should talk too. But not tonight.

When Roman’s door closes again and Roman crosses the last item off the list, Logan takes it from him and sets it aside, holding out his arms.

“Come here, dear heart.”

This time, Roman wraps his arms around Logan without hesitation. Logan hides a smile in Roman’s shoulder as he sits them on the bed, lies them down, tucks Roman in close.

Roman is quiet. Roman is soft. Roman is an _excellent_ cuddler. He fits perfectly into Logan’s arms. He’s _perfect._

It’s been a very productive day.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com./


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